illusion

I enjoy thinking about shades of meaning and relationships between words. When my daughter was young that was one of the aspects that I really enjoyed about reading out loud to her. Taking that moment to play in my mind with the various connotations and explain to her why maybe an author chose a particular word at that point in the story, it always taught me something.

This morning, just for the hell of it, I was laying in bed thinking on disillusion. When we say we're disillusioned, it usually comes with connotations of sadness, disappointment, unhappiness, sometimes even regret. Those are some pretty weighty emotions. Odd I think, if something was in fact an illusion, not real, fake, false, a mistake, just plain wrong... then wouldn't it be a good thing to be rid of the it? to see through it? to correct the misconception? But we do not say "Yay! the veil has dropped! I'm so happy being disillusioned!"
"I was blind but now I see", has a slight bit of a celebratory nature to it, but you don't see it coupled with "Whoopee!" (And that's too bad, cause the rhyme is so awful, I'd rather enjoy using them together and watching people grimace :)

merriam-webster dot com defines disillusion as ": to free from illusion; also : to cause to lose naive faith and trust".
Yeah, I'm thinking maybe that's it, the "losing naive faith and trust", that's the painful part. Yeah, that's definitely it, the naive part. Everything is easier when you're naive. But like virginity, there's no going back.

This disillusionshit has been weighing me down lately. And there will never be any unloading it, will there? Damn!

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful that I've been able to see through the illusions of my marriage and lifetime of fucked up personal relationships. I believe I am finally at a point in life where I can begin to recognize where and how it all went wrong. I accept it, you can't change the past. I want to move forward but all I feel right now is sad. I am disillusioned. I am tired. I just want to curl up in the arms of someone safe and strong and be held there until I can fall back asleep and just float free, just for a little while, puleeezz. But there is no one; never has been. The only comfort to be had is virtual, just another insubstantial illusion.
Same as it ever was.

Blame

I have never been a big fan of poetry, or fiction for that matter. I just didn't "get" it. I always strongly prefered non-fiction. I mean, what higher purpose could one possibly persue than the accumulation of factual knowledge ????? Song lyrics, maybe ok, if the melody, harmonies and rythym were pleasing to me; but poetry? as in those esoteric old farts talking oddities? NO! no way, whatso ever!

However, in the past couple years, I've run up upon, and fallen in love with, some authors who repeatedly quote certain poets. And with that opening, I've begun to notice poets, and remember a few that caught my mind's attention long long ago.

And now, long story short, I browsed a bookstore today and ended up buying 4 books of poetry, to go with the one, that I bought last week! :D
(ha ha AND btw, I had to ask for directions to the poetry section! How pitiful is that?)

Well, anyway, as I flipped through The Gift, Poems by Hafiz, The Great Sufi Master, (translation by Daniel Ladinsky), the book fell open to page 117....
I couldn't help but think of hubby and how perfectly this poem fit with my post from earlier today.

THE SAD GAME

Blame

Keeps the sad game going.

It keeps stealing all your wealth ---

Giving it to an imbicile with

No financial skills.

Dear one,

Wise

Up.

crystal clear

dear husband,

some things have become crystal clear to me.

i, with my desires, my yearning and burning,
my headful of crazy ideas and lifetime of incomplete projects,
i am not the amusing freak that you believe.
in fact you couldn't be further from the truth.

you are damaged, deluded, repressed, and wasting away.
me, i've been there, done that; such things no longer draw me in.

my effort, my struggling, this constant motion has finally paid a dividend.
and i have grown.

we were not given life, breath, intellect or heart, in order to hibernate our way through this earthly existence
or even to tread water.

oh well,
you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.
so be it.

yours truly,
songbird

I wrote this for a message board that is pretty much dead these days. And that's a sad thing for me right now. I wish I had folks to talk to about this sort of stuff.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Of the books I read this summer, two that I finished last week turned out to be especially interesting and useful.

*********************************************************************************


[U][B]Sadomasochism In Everyday Life, [I] The Dynamics of Power and Powerlessness[/I][/B][/U] by Lynn S. Chancer

NO! this is not a book of sexual titillation. It is a serious scholarly publication that encompasses far more than sex. However I guarantee you that if you carry it around in your purse and pull it out in public to read, you will draw some stares. :^)

The author convincingly (I think) argues that sadomasochism is more common and widespread in societies like the United States than most people realize. Sexual S&M, that most people consider to be the sum total of the meaning of the word, is essentially just the tip of the ice berg. It is the attention grabbing individualistic and very narrow example of a behavorial dynamic that is actually a reflection of our overall social structure. After working through the author's examples of various sadomasochistic relationships described in the book, it becomes obvious that we are all so familiar with the dynamic, we have lived it in so many different situations, that it has become virtually invisible, and can seem normal, inescapable.

She reveiws the dynamic from both the viewpoint of existentialism and psychology; from our core need to be recognized by another human being and also from a child development standpoint. She gives examples from common everyday interactions such as waiters or cab drivers in relationship with their customers. In addition she also draws on history and large social movements to illustrate the dynamic at work in the larger setting. She identifies paternalism, capitalism and protestantism as roots and perpetuators of this social dynamic. She gives multiple examples and illustrates the patterns of behavior clearly, between individuals and within large groups,

Whether you call it power vs powerlessness, or dominace vs subordinance, or master/slave, or employer/employee... we are all players in the game everyday, hierarchically arranged, both individually and collectively. We interact and follow chains of command in the work place, at home, in our local communities and even nationally on the world stage. We are stratified by economics, race, gender and political identifications, to name a few. And each of these layers increases the complexity of the sadomasochistic picture of our lives. We constantly posture and project our unwanted identities and attempt to exert control in paradoxical ways.

However, it is important to note that not all interactions involving power vs powerlessness etc are sadomasochistic.
"Hierarchy and unequal power are necessary but not sufficient conditions for the ground on which a sadomasochistic dynamic may later develop." (pg 2)

The author identifies 4 specific criteria which identify the sadomasochistic dynamic.
1) "an excessive attachment exists for both parties"
2) the "interaction has a repetitive and ritualistic character....... neither (party) can assume or unassume their respective roles by an arbitrary or simple exertion of will."
3) there exists "a dialectical form of interaction, constantly changing and moving, in flux........ each position has the potential for transformation into the opposite..... even if not generally realized or realizable by conscious intentionality..."
4) the "most central criterion for determining the presence or absence of the sadomasochistic dynamic is whether individuals (or groups) positioned masochistically face severe consequences should they question, talk about, or challenge the power of those individuals (or groups) who are structurally more powerful."
(pg 3-5)

She also uses the terms subordinate or dominant in combination with sadism and masochism, to describe the fact that we are all embedded in a matrix of social relationships. In other words we are not isolated, we do not live in a vacuum, and therefore both sides of the dynamic coexist in each person/group. A common example of this from the work place would be the office boss who is dominantly sadistic to his secretary but behaves subordinately masochistic towards the chairman of the board.

The big stuff - like discussions of Nazi anti-Semitism or African apartheid, society's need for criminals, the creating of enemy others, racial predjudice, the alternating history of labor movements vs industrialists etc - was all fascinating reading, and especially so, because she wove the strands together and consistently brought the reader back to the predictable patterns.

However, of most personal interest and utility to me was the exploration of individual relationships and the repeated examples, both small and large, of her specific criteria. In particular I got alot of practice at recognizing:
#3 - the constantly changing nature of and intrinsic transformability of the relationship (i.e. the dialectic plus the role reversal aspects where S becomes M and, M becomes S)
and
#4 - the litmus test of whether the masochist can challenge the sadist without consequence.

I've lived this stuff all my life and never before gotten such a good grip on it.
That ever changing nature makes it slippery! However, some part of me has long known that there's a pattern and this stuff can be predicted. But I've denied it repeatedly, always thinking "next time will be different". I was too close, immersed. This book has given me a much bigger perspective.

Key characteristics that I've now come to see clearly are:

- Although the ultimate outcome of the relationship can not be determined, there are certain structural elements of the dynamic that imply predictable patterns.

- There exists a systemic instability of the relationship due to constant escalation of tasks or hoops that the masochist must jump through for the sadist. Because both parties are blind to essential personal truths regarding their dependence and independence, neither can fulfill or be fulfilled. There can only be ever increasing demand and effort.

- The masochist who does not collapse and die or run away from the burden, can not help but build strength through the ever increasing challenges laid out by the sadist.

- "The masochist can never gain the recognition and approval from the sadist so fervently desired because the sadist is structurally incapable of bestowing it completely while remaining sadistic." (pg 66)

- "Because of the masochist's structural positioning, she or he is more likely to escape the dynamic because it is the masochist who gains power through working at the tasks that the sadist merely demands..." (pg 66)

Here at home we had a blow-out of an argument after dinner a few days ago. I credit the knowledge and perspective I gained from this book with helping me deal with that night. The book gave me alot of practice at identifying and describing the sadomasochistic dynamic at play in different situations. As a result I never doubted myself during or after the argument. I was able to see the consistency of and wrong-headedness of both my daughter's and my husband's arguments. (Of course I wasn't able to convince them of it, but to me it was crystal clear.) Even though on the surface they looked very different, it turned out that they both were atttempting to change my behavior in such a way that increased my burden, and hence only escalated the playing of the sadomasochistic game. And so, I declined :)

I think this quality, the deceptively opposite ways in which h and dtr's individual personalities manifest is something that has generally frustrated me, and hid their similarities from me. He's covert, she is overt. From a distance they seem as different as night and day, her loud ranting vs his Mr Reasonable impersonation. However, when you break it down to those core criteria, they are both players on the same team. They are a tag team of two against my one. I know now that the only way to make significant change in the role I play around here, is to either walk away or become sadistic. Experience made those facts clear to me a long long long time ago. I just could never understand why. And so I kept banging my head against the proverbial brick wall. Now I see that it all comes down to the fact that there is no middle ground in sadomasochism. The structural basis of the dynamic will not allow it.

To play the sadistic role and flip the dynamic on its head, I must overcompensate. I must make a mountain out of a mole hill, just to get some measure of what I want. This is something I learned, through trail and error. And it does work, but I hate doing it! Plus I feel it requires far too much energy to sustain across the board. I've no desire to be an enforcer all the time. It's hard enough to speak up for myself as is. And so it seems, I'm basically left with one choice, to leave :( And that's such a big step. I can't help but wonder if there might be a third way, a way to simply not play the game, like a limp non-violent protestor being dragged away by the cops?

I enjoyed the book and got something very practical out of reading it. In addition it has made me want to go study sociology and social psychology and other fields looking for more parallels between group and individual behaviors.

***********************************************************************************

[U][B]When the Body Is the Target, [I]Self-Harm, Pain, and Traumatic Attachments"[/I][/B][/U] by Sharon Klayman Farber

This book focuses quite a bit on the extremes of self-harm behaviors that in my opinion have gotten a bit too much press in recent years. As the parent of a teenage girl, I've grown tired of what I see as sensationalism surrounding things like cutting and anorexia/bulemia, especailly when masquerading as public education. And for that reason I almost didn't buy the book. In addition, although I do very clearly recognize that I often use food to regulate my mood, especially when I am stressed, I wasn't really expecting to find much to relate to personally in this book. Boy was I wrong on that one! As I read I found that I couldn't be without a pen or highlighter in hand. Although I've not needed to resort to the extreme behaviors that make up a majority of the book, I am very familiar with emotional pain and the struggle to express and contain it. The dynamics described in this book are alive in many aspects of my life. Considering the ins and outs of this stuff for myself, my relationships and those around me was both gut wrenching at times and also eye opening.

The book covered SO SO much, it's almost impossible to describe. Below I'll simply touch on some of the themes that I found most interesting and/or relevant to my life.

Self-harm is ubiquitous. Many forms of self-harm are socially/culturally approved to varying degrees. Some self-harming people are expressing positive values; others, rage and pain. Some, are looking for approval while others are trying to shock or provoke a reponse. I found it interesting to compare and contrast the various ways in which the methods and motivations of self-harm, plus the sort of social approval, + or - , can vary, combine and sometimes conflict. Think and contrast: political hunger striker, bulemic ballerina, pierced and tattooed punk-rocker, steroid using baseball player, alcohal/nicotine addicted middle-ager, self-starving 12 year old girl, compulsive shopper, high-rolling gambler, extreme sport thrill seeker. Some are considered saints or heros, and rewarded; some are completely disapproved of; and others get mixed reviews, depending on whether we are publicly or privately judging them. It becomes quite a twisted knot, even on the less harmful end of the spectrum.

Self-harm in and on the body, as symbolic language, expresses emotional pain when one has not the words or ability to say it. And our unconscious can be endlessly creative in doing so. "We need to take in and metabolize our experience. Metabolizing pleasurable memories is easy for most of us. Metabolizing traumatic memories... is not as these memories are more likely to be repressed, or... to be dissociated and stored in the body.......... But unmetabolized experience has a power and energy of its own. ............. unmetabolized experience pushes for discharge, for motor release." (pg 90-91)

"Better to control one kind of pain than to be controlled by another kind. ......... This is the basis for self-harm: the substitution of one kind of pain for another to divert onesself from the original pain." (pg 45) This idea of substitution intrigues me, whether it is substitution of symptoms or substitution of one sort of pain for another. It's something that I had a quite bit of experience with, not quite a year ago. And frankly, at the time, it confused the heck out of me. However, I now clearly see that I was substituting. A rapidly shifting environment had left my traditional balancing behaviors obsolete, but I had not yet completely outgrown the pain. And it still demanded expression for some time, but has gradually dissipated. I also am interested in issues of control, and how some (often any!) measure of control, or perhaps even just a [I]sense[/I] of control, can often pacify.

Another, I guess, obvious but also intriguing theme in this book for me was how the consistent presence of one's own body is something one can always turn to, as opposed to the often fickleness of other people. "The contents of the body assume a special importance because of their permanence and because they provide an illusory sense of omnipotence. "I don't need you or anyone else, I just need my body and food."" (pg 153)

The concept of hunger diseases based on a lack of self-esteem rang very true for me, and I also think it aptly describes much of modern America. It matters not whether a person self-medicates using starvation or purging or sex or power or shopping or drugs or television. These behaviors are all symptoms of the same disease. Most self-harm behaviors can substitue for one another, they're interchangable and combinable. What is of utmost importance is that the emotional/psychic pain find expression of the appropriate magnitude.

The section titled "Chronic Patienthood as an Identity" gave me an insight into my mother that I'd not considered before. Mom was definitely a chronic patient and I'd always attributed this simply to her self-centeredness and desire for attention and caring. However the author pointed out that people may cling to the false self of the perpetual patient "as a means of retaining autonomy", that they may feel not so much as if they gave up their symptoms but rather that the symptoms were taken away, and that letting go of their patienthood identity "means loss, sadness, and guilt that needs to be worked through in treatment." (pg 359-361) Those ideas gave me alot to think about because there was an undeniable quality to my mother when she was out-of-balance that felt almost triumphant. At these times she had the power to control others through her symptoms. It makes perfect sense to me now that loss of that power would have been significant to her. No wonder a lifetime of medical and psychiatric intervention got her nowhere.

Human attachment both as cause and cure was discussed in many place throughout the book. For example,
"When our early attachments have been insecure, we will tend to want what we cannot have or never did have. It is not the wanting or the hunger that is problematic, but the lack of recognition of it. It is the blind looking for what one hungers for in objects, substances, and relationships that can not provide it that is ultimately harmful." (pg 345)
"A central theme of many patients, but especially those whose lives are organized around self-harm, is that "there is no one there" for them, a theme that speaks of a lack of secure attachments; earlier in life there was no one home emotionally in a consistent and reliable way. To have nobody (no body) makes one turn aggressively to one's body in order to feel that there is somebody (some body) there." (pg 353)
"At the heart of psychotherapy is a safe and secure human attachment that has the potential to alter and even repair the attachments to pain and suffering encoded in the brain in those who harm themselves." (pg 353)
The author's stories of the ups and downs of various patient's treatments felt real and often familiar, as did the quotes from her survey of self-harmers and other case history samples.

This book was a slow read for me. I had to take emotional breaks. But it was well worth my time.


*************************************************************************************


I think these two book are each excellent on their own. However, for me, taken together, they become a perfect pair.

They conveniently explain the mechanisms and interplay behind behaviors, my own and other people's, that have ruled my life. I've struggled to get a grip on this stuff essentially forever. These behaviors and the dynamics that perpetuate them are what I am currently trying to step outside of. Understanding where it all comes from and how the pieces fit together and why, makes what I'm doing easier. (Note: NOT easy, but easier.)

The self-harming individual can have a sadomasochistically oriented relationship with themself, as well as with other people. The psychology of insecure attachments and the essential nature of food to the survival of our body can combine in ways that frankly become pretty ridiculous as the sadomasochistic dynamic evolves..

I understand now why so many of the battles in my home over the past few years with my daughter and husband (and also many of the outrageous situations with my mother in her later years of life) ALL have revolved in and around the kitchen, food, consuming, and in the case of my mother, eliminating. Each of these people has/had expectations of me, they are/were insatiable, and consequences always follow(ed) from my inadeqaucies and rebellions. In the end they harm themselves and our relationship by denying their own dependencies etc and attempting to project them onto me. And I of course both express and perpetuate my own pain by dancing with them.

Now that my eyes have been opened, I could talk forever on this subject, citing one perfect example after another from real life, but I'll shut-up now :^) because this is one damn long post!

Aphorisms

A bumper sticker message caught my eye earlier this summer. And I'm still gnawing on it. It said,

"Change is inevitable. Growth is optional."

I like that.
And I think it's amazingly cool that this total stranger who I randomly crossed paths with in traffic that day, neatly summed up for me, exactly where I am in life, and why, and simultaneously threw up into my face the challenge, "Now, what are you gonna do about it?"

You see, I'm at a bit of a crossroads currently. Sometimes I get tired, feel confused, directionless.
And LOL, like the punchline in the old cartoon Hawaiian Punch commercials, I wanted to tell the other driver,
"Thanks, I needed that!"

I like bumper stickers in general. Most are trivial, simple proclamations of the driver's identities. But occassionally you run across a bit of creatively packaged wisdom, that can in that specific moment, become a message sent just for you.

Another bumper sticker that I saw about 6 months ago, struck me in the same way. It said,

"Life is the school. Love is the lesson."

Most days I feel like the struggling student, working my ass off, forever uncertain as to what kind of mood the professor will be in when he subjectively grades my essay. Oh please, Cross your fingers for me, that he'll grade on a curve.

I think my fascination with these meaning loaded little quips goes back to the time of my first job, right after college. I was swamped in the job. It was a technical service position where my inbox was always overflowing and my phone was ringing off the hook. And consequently I felt perpetually inadequate. It was the ideal job for me. I was getting paid, working hard and beating myself up, all at the same time. One evening after work I was flipping through a small paper back book on philosophy that my husband had been required to purchase for a class he had taken some time ago. Of all the things I read that night, one statement in particular jumped out to me. I thought it perfectly summed up my 9 to 5 life. I scribbled the words on a tiny piece of paper,

"Desire is infinite; fulfillment, limited."

The next day at work I taped that paper to the wall beside my desk, and those words became my anchor, helping me keep perspective and survive the job. I give them full credit for maintaining my sanity until I finally quit years later. Sometimes I temporarily lose contact with the realistic common-sense perspective that those words speak, but thankfully, I have never forgotten their message entirely.

Yeah, as James McMurtry said, "Every little bit counts".

When it comes to maneuvering between and understanding life's twistier lessons,
things like change & growth, life & love, desire & limitation...
... well, I think, I need all the help I can get.

So, long live bumper stickers and pithy philosophers :)

roller coaster

I'm in the dumps today, at odds with myself. And it's a trash heap of my own making, of the worst kind, regret.

You see, last night I did something, spontaneous and fun, but a bit reckless. I violated a personal rule of internet discourse/interaction. Once before, and only once, I broke this rule. Oh but that was a minor infraction compared to this. Interestingly, when I fucked up, both times, both last night and that one time several months ago, I was communicating with the same comfy virtual person.

My emotions today are grossly compounded by the fact that I've been recently reveling in my online freedom, celebrating my liberation and the reawakening of my shadow, that naughty side of my personality ;^)

I uncorked this genie on purpose. I'd decided that it was unfair and counterproductive in the long run to leave her bound, cold, and still; shushed and lifeless. I guess I was thinking I could control her, that I could enjoy the titillation without engaging shame. I thought I was prepared. I mean, afterall, I've grappled with this stuff for several years. I've thought long and hard, and read a zillion books and analyzed my dreams...

Mmmm but then, I desired, and I dared myself... and cyberspace smiled, egging me on.
Aw damn!
What was I thinking?
Whoops!
OH yeah, right.
Ha ha,
I wasn't.

This shit both scares and intrigues me

I wrote the bulk of what's below in early December 2008, over 6 months ago. It was a late night ramble, that turned into a loose sketch of the current state of things in my life. The initial sentences were prompted by a bdsm thread on a forum and seem now, at first glance, thematically, to be somewhat separate from the rest of the writing. However in essence it all interrelates. It speaks of my experience and issues of fear, entrapment, insecurity, delusion, self-knowledge, self-confidence and self-determination.

At the time I'd been toying with the idea of blogging for at least 6 months but was too scared to post anything. YES, too scared to post, even to a blog where I was the only person who knew the url! It seems incredible now, how scared I was about just typing the words and saving them in a google doc, in my 'secret' email account. I've only recently gotten over this sort of blockade.

Reading back over this doc yesterday, for the first time since I wrote it, I was struck by the truth of it all and I really wanted to post it, to put it out there, to share it. It reminds me of how much I've changed deep inside in recent years, and of how much I've learned about myself, and about how much fear I've stared down, and how silly and insubstantial all those great big fears turned out to be. I think writing and sharing myself is key to continuing this process of growth.

Uhm, so here it is -


This shit both scares and intrigues me.
I'll look at anything, and read anything, especially online.
And I've done alot of that in the past year.

I've always known that I like sex when it gets a little assertive, borderline rough.
I see my desire as wanting to be taken.
Not completely sure what drives it but suspect it's some insecure thing inside of me that says,
"I need to know that you want me".
I want him to be unquestionably turned on and to reach out and take me, hold me down, mount me, and yes, to force himself upon me, inside of me. Rape fantasy? maybe
Please prove it to me, that I am desirable. I need to know.

Unfortunately I'm married to the least forceful man in the world.
So how did that happen?
whassup wid dat?
idk
In fact my h is so "least forceful" that in the past 7+ years he's been impotent.
long story
no fucking idea why
yes "no fucking"
I've got a million scenarios and theories.... but nothing for sure.
Well, nothing for sure
other than the damn certainty that he is not going to fuck me (period).
For a while he'd get it up but then limp out at the moment of penetration.
It felt like some kind of torture.
It pissed me off but then I knew that any negative comments from me would be counter-productive
and so it became a classic "no win" situation
damned if I did and damned if I didn't.
He'd say "oh well, I guess it's not going to work" and then just quit
I'd say sweetly, "That's ok honey, I'm sure that next time..."
DAMN!!!
grrrrrrrrrrrrr
I now believe that there will never be a next time.
And I hate that.
Words are inadequate to express my disappointment and anger,
a sledgehammer could come close but not quite.

So anyway, this lack of action seriously messed with my mind
and my emotional soul, neither of which was spiffy strong and unwarped to begin with...
The situation left me feeling most inadequate.
I see now that it reinforced long-standing feelings of unworthiness,
confirmed my core nature as unlovable.
As if,
There's something wrong,
and it must be me.

I held the pain inside for so very long.
I only recently let it out,
shared it with another person,
online,
a virtual person
but vitally comforting just the same

and that act of sharing,
was the scariest thing I've ever done in my entire life
and well worth it too, because
I believe that
my bravery and vulnerability,
coupled with his response
has made all the difference.
I've found energy and courage to resurrect a sex life for myself.
Yeah, it's a virtual sex life, but damn! is it fun and energizing!

And it has become a first step in finding myself again -
aw heck, maybe not 'again' but maybe for the first time, for real -
a step towards claiming life, and my existence, as my own.

Through those dry years, I never stopped masterbating.
I knew I was hurting, but still, I considered myself alive and aware.
I now view that time as life support,
like forced breath and sustenance, ventilators and IVs, machines pumping away,
holding real life in suspension, preserving potenial, but not truly living.
Feeling confined by the marriage there could be no relationship other than the one with myself,
and so there could be no exchange of energy, no movement
I became stagnant, only half alive, walking dead.

I can see now how my home base of fear and insecurity guided me throughout my early years and put me on this path. I'm grateful that chance and the internet provided me new opportunity. I hope I don't squander it.

Oh god how weird! 51 years! and I feel like I'm just beginning.
I was so sure and certain of everything,
I knew that safety lay in being alert, smart, careful and cautious; and that
my marriage was made in heaven, it was meant to be,
it was love at first site, he was all I ever needed in this world to be happy.

I've always been a loner and comfortable with that fact.
I convinced myself that I only needed one friend and he was it.
Funny how I ignored all the differences and incompatibilities,
how I accepted whatever he gave, and thought I was lucky.
I wrote off my true desires along with all the hurt feelings; constantly consciously mulling them over
but never taking action in their, my, defense.
I did all this until he left me no choice.
I clung to the illusion of perfect happiness,
until he abandoned "us" and coasted into his own oblivion (where he sits today comfortably numb).

Alone I open my eyes, face the truth, or else.

Yeah, this shit - past, present and future - both scares and intrigues me.

Was it something I said !?!?

Today I was washing my hands in the Farmer's Market bathroom. The water was warm and that felt nice. I got some soap from the dispenser and then stuck my hands back under the warm running water. I rinsed slowly, pausing on purpose to savor the warmth. I was sorta in a mood to relax into things, in general. I'd been a little bummed out in the previous store, feeling at odds with the world. I was conciously trying to lose that negativity. And it just felt good, the warmth. (I do btw always appreciate their bathroom. It's usually clean and the hand dryers are powerful. They actually dry your hands, quickly, unlike so many public restrooms where you end up wiping your hands on your pants as you exit. grr )

Anyway, as I was rinsing my hands, Suddenly, briefly, an image of a fight/struggle with my mother flashed through my mind. Actually it wasn't exactly an image, as in a picture, but rather the remembrance of being in the bathroom infront of the sink and the fact that she was trying to literally wash my mouth out with soap. I recall we struggled. I do not remember whether she was successful at all. I've no memory of the taste of soap, so maybe I wriggled away. However, I clearly recall my astonishment and the absurdity of it all, the idea that she really meant it, meant to do it, it wasn't just a figure of speech for her.

No idea why this popped up when it did. It was quick, sudden. It's not a major memory. I mean, if you were to use the expression, "I should wash your mouth out with soap!" in my presence, I very well might laugh and say, "Hey, my mother actually tried to do that once!" But I swear it's not one of the memories that I think about. I have plenty of stories of mom and occassionally one of them will come to mind for some reason or another but this is just not one of them.

Weird. I have no idea how old I was or what it was that I said to prompt this action from her.

Well I say I have no idea why it came to mind, but then again, on the surface it does kinda make some sense. I have been thinking alot about the act of speaking lately; and, how I self-censor alot; and, how the majority of what I hold in, ends up hurting me, disrespecting me. (And I've been meaning to write about all that but haven't taken/made the time.) I say it is wierd because I really do NOT think that this particular struggle with my mom was spectacularly traumatic or influenced/marked me all that much. But who knows. Actually she was verbally and emotionally abusive much of the time, perhaps the fact that in this instance, she was being physical, was significant and memorable. Again, who knows \(@.o)/

Oh well, I just found it interesting and weird, the fact that it came to mind, and the way in which the memory flashed by out of nowhere.

I wonder what the heck it was that I said, that ticked her off so much? I must have been pretty young if she actually thought she could physically do that to me! What could a little kid say that would be so bad? Good grief, do/did other parents actually do that? - stick a bar of soap into a kid's mouth? I mean, it is just an expression, right?

we fledglings

There is a bathroom in our home that's on ground level. The window by the toilet looks straight out to the busy street. Even though there are bushes in front of the window providing privacy, the blinds stay shut all of the time. I was in there this morning and heard a fluttering noise. Sounded like maybe, a bird on the window sill? I quietly peeked out thru the slats. All I could see at first was a pile of leaves on the left. Then I noticed that the left corner of the screen had been lifted up and also a small round hole had been torn out at that lower corner edge. (This particular screen is old and made of fiberglass mesh, not aluminum wire. I've replaced many of them all around the house over the years, specifically because. it doesn't take much pressure to rip the old fiberglass screening.) I realized that I was looking at a bird nest. The parents must have exploited a flaw in the screen there, and built their nest in that space between the glass and screen. I can see how they would have been attracted to the protected location.

As the morning went on, I kept peeking out every now and then. Once I saw a parent bird, a Wren, perch on the screen's frame and shove it's head down into the nest. I assumed there was a baby hidden inside. Another time I saw a beak reaching up.

Later I heard some fluttering and went to look. The baby was out of the nest, hopping back and forth, side to side. The only part of the screen that was detached from its frame was the bottom corner, just by to the nest. And so, the baby was "screened in", caged, looking out on the world, occassionally flapping its wings and lifting off a bit, but unable to leave the enclosed window sill. I watched for a long time. The baby was almost the same size as the parent bird. Wrens are not big birds. I noticed a cracked egg shell on the right side of the sill. It was amazingly small; a large english pea or a small garbanzo. I wondered how old it was, how long had this bird been living in secret on my window sill.? Watching the baby bounce around in there, I wondered if it might crush the small egg shell from whence it had hatched. I wanted to retrieve it because I have a few found egg shells on a book shelf in the living room.

The baby had an occassional tiny downy fluff feather poking out randomly on its body; and also, a couple small bare spots on its cheeks where an adult Wren's characteristic stripe resides. Baby had a sort of "bad hair day" look. From its size and its flapping and its hopping, I surmised that it was more than ready to throw itself out into the world and fly away. If only it weren't for that darn screen!

The parent bird came back many times in the several hours that I monitored the window sill. It sat in the bushes just outside the screen. It sat there right in front of Baby, with a fat spider in its beak. It turned in circles on a branch, teasing and tempting Baby, trying to entice it to come on out. Baby wanted to go but couldn't figure out just how. It kept looking up and out, and hopping from the nest to the far side of the window sill and back again. A couple times the parent hopped from the bush to the window ledge corner and looked up through the hole in the screen. Even though the baby opened its beak and leaned in that direction, I never saw the parent feed the baby during this time. It simply poked its head in, then backed out and sat on a branch in the bush.

One time, the baby flapped so hard that it dislodged the entire bottom edge of the screen loose from the frame. Several times it flew up and clasped onto the screen with its feet and the whole fabric swayed in and out. Although the bottom edge was completely open, offering flight and freedom, it seems Baby's instincts are to go up and out. And so it remained inbetween the screen and the glass, oblivious to the yawning gap below.

I checked again a few minutes ago. The parent is sitting down in the middle of the outer brick ledge, just below the open screen. I think, it's trying to give Baby the idea to go down there, but the message still doesn't seem to be getting through.

I'm not worried though.
There's always a temptation, in these sorts of situations, to interfere, to reach out and give the screen a bit of a push at just the right moment, to "help", to make it easier for the fledgling-wanna-be. But I don't think that'd be right. I'm sure that eventually nature's call will sing loud and persistent enough; and Baby will make its way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love music and song. As a teenager at summer camp, my nickname was mimi-bird because I sang all the time. Camp was one of those rare and special places in my life where I truly felt comfortable and free and loved and appreciated. Often I turn to music for comfort and for emotional interpretations. I believe that my unconscious mind uses songs, to send me messages, and to hints at things, that sometimes I'm not seeing clearly; not unlike the way it sends us crazy dreams in the midst of turmoil. Often I'm too busy or don't look close enough to get the meaning; othertimes, it's all too obvious.

A couple Melissa Etheridge songs have been in high rotation on my stereo lately, Ruins and Testify. And so I guess it's not really surprising that my brain did it's "thing" and popped these words "rip through the wire that screens in my window" into my head, as I stood there watching the baby bird. The words were familiar, the title and other lyrics were just on the tip of my tongue, but still out of reach... I hummed along, trying to get a grasp on what song it was, uncertain if there was any real significance or just a coincidence. Eventually I realized that these were the closing lines from Testify. I think they fit perfectly.

Rip through the wire that screens in my window
Throw open the shade that covers my mind
I'm going to touch, I've got to believe
The bell tolls for me

I love it when that happens! When the message just shoots through, overshadowing all the uncertainty and trouble and pain and confusion. When you absolutely can't ignore the connection.

I think I can keep moving now.

You see, I'd been feeling a bit at odds lately. The birds this morning reminded me of my deep trust in the nature, and also of the sacredness of each individual's life journey. The changes currently ongoing within and without me are difficult; and, are compounded by past choices, like the one I made decades ago, to build my nest in a protected spot. Now, I, like the parent birds am learning that what I once thought was protected and safe, contains barriers to flight. I think I need to trust in my own internal drive, in instinct, inevitable and natural. In my heart I know that is the way. I guess sometimes it just takes a little more time and effort than we expect. However, I have no doubt, life will tease and taunt us and propel us onward, and, we fledglings, will make our way just fine.

Hello?

hmmm just checking